


A story that doesn't begin with "Once upon a time"

by shimorimiyori



Category: Le Petit Prince | The Little Prince - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional, F/M, Forests, Loss, Meta, Pianist Min Yoongi | Suga, Prince Kim Seokjin | Jin, Rain, Sentimental, Slow Burn, Story within a Story, Wizard Kim Namjoon | RM, stories within a story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27092779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimorimiyori/pseuds/shimorimiyori
Summary: trigger warning: depressing topics and conversations______"I'm not like you."He tilted his eyebrow, "In what way?"I sat on the ground with my arms around my legs, "I'm not philosophical, I don't bring joy to anyone, I don't have the looks, the money, or the house."Hope's expression was unreadable for a moment, but then he smiled - one of those warm, kind, smiles."No," he crouched down with me, "you have hope!"____A story of love, loss, and reunion.
Relationships: Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Original Female Character(s), Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Reader
Kudos: 1





	1. Prelude; spring day

**Author's Note:**

> Oof this might get buried under all the other fanfics, but I just wanna say a pre-mature thank you to you all <3 
> 
> This book is def the most effort I've put into a book so far (which is kinda sad depending on your standards.) 
> 
> I had this idea about two years ago and had to edit a lot of it, please enjoy~

_The sun shone when it rained the hardest_

"Why weren't you at your classes today?" 

I stay still, in silence, shifting my feet to avoid stepping on metaphorical egg-shells.

"We put a roof over your head, bring food on the table, provide you with resources, and you do  _ this _ to us?!" 

My Mother held up my grades -which had red streaks all over them. The red ink bled through the papers, crinkled from my Mother's angry grasp, taunting me to say something. 

But I don't. I never do. I kept my mouth shut and hope for the best while expecting the worst. 

When I tell the truth, she gets angry - when I lie, she gets angry. So I figured that it was better to not say anything at all. 

"Wait, where are you going?! Come back here!" she gritted her teeth, "Why can't you be like your sister?!"

' _ I can't live up to your invisible expectations.' _ I thought. 

I slammed the door. 

The wind nipped at my face even though it was already April, but I grew accustomed to it, similar to my Mother's scoldings. I don't know where I was planning to go, but I ended up in the forest. 

_ 'It's always my sister...It's never me.' _

Soon, the skies began to rumble, crashing their clouds against each other. Soft drops of rain began to fall, then it started pelting. Panicking, I pulled up my hood and ran in whatever direction suited me. If my steps turned left, then I went left. If my shoes squished towards the right, then I went right. 

Of course, that only made me more lost. 

But then I hear a sound: someone singing.

"Snowflakes are falling, getting farther away. 

I miss you (I miss you).

I miss you (I miss you)."

The singing was low, soft, and cut through the pelting rain.

"How much longer do I have to wait?

How many more sleepless nights do I have to endure?

Until I can see you? (until I can see you)?

Until I can meet you? (until I can meet you)?"

I followed the noise, stepping over wet rocks, and watching for stray twigs. The singing grew louder, indicating that I was nearing the destination. Until finally, I arrived before the man responsible for the music.

He was standing on his roofless balcony, gazing at the sky until it landed on my figure.

Instead of leaving, he smiled.

"Isn't it unfair?" The words escaped his lips.

He gave me a warm smile as he looked at my soaked clothing and messy hair. And within those eyes - within  _ his _ eyes, I felt a foreign emotion. 

I felt safe.


	2. Chapter one; everythingoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joonie's here (not really)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chaps in a day cuz I can't just leave you guys with a 400 word prologue XD

_The branches lower, so that the animals could drink_

I walked along the forest path - swatting away the branches who dared to go near my face. The slight drizzle of rain dampened my clothes and shoes. 

Crunch. 

Crunch.

Crunch. 

The leaves crinkled under my footsteps as I brushed away more branches to get a better view of my destination: a small- but elegant - cottage, sitting atop a hill. 

The cozy structure brought a smile to my face. I came here often- not for the place itself, but rather for the person who inhabited it. Do I know that person well? No. I barely knew the first thing about him. And while others might not fancy meeting a stranger they knew next-to-nothing about, he wasn't just any kind of "stranger." 

He told stories. Tales that would come alive at his words, any wives tales, fairy tales, etc. - he knew. 

But he lived alone. 

He was kind to any creature, practically radiated it, and always spread happiness.

Yet he still lived alone. 

It's peculiar, really, now that I think about it. Even though the man was the whole package, he had no one to be with him. He seemed lonely, making it a part of the reason for my continuous visits. 

I walked up to the structure, admiring its features - unlike the run-down ones in storybooks, this one was well-made. The humble house stood proud- but welcoming. 

I walked up to the front - the doormat practically screamed, "welcome!" in happy scribbles. Seriously, one could see it a mile away. 

I knocked three times in the pattern he taught me. 

A moment later, there was the sound of a masculine- but not gruff voice. 

"The door's unlocked. Please come in."

The door never was locked.

As I hastily turned the doorknob, there was the sound of a few pages flipping and a voice humming. 

I pushed open the surprisingly heavy door, and there, I see the sunshine-man himself, sporting a simple grey sweater and pants. The man's gaze shifted from his book towards me, and a grin overtook his facial features. 

He ushered me into the living room where two cups of tea sat on the table, waiting to be drunk and accompanied by biscuits. And don't worry, dear reader. It wasn't like I was a fifteen-year-old exploring the woods and going into a stranger's house by myself. I was a  _ nineteen- _ year-old exploring the woods and going into a stranger's vicinity. The law stated I was an adult, yet I didn't act like one. 

I gave a small smile to the man before sitting down on the sofa. 

"Now, what story would you like to hear?" he laced his hands together on the table, "Dragons? Wives-tales? Oooh, how about the story of this one merchant selling a quill for-" 

"Actually," I interrupted him, "I would like to know about you..." I then quickly added that only if he was comfortable with it. He would always tell ancient stories or fantasies, but he has never told me his name, nor his age, so I practically knew nothing about him. 

He considers my request before letting out a chuckle. 

"Yeah, of course! But let me tell you about the stories of seven boys first, then I'll tell you about mine, alright?" 

A bit sketchy, but I complied.

"Deal." 

He had an attraction to him, something that made me want to delve deeper. 

I set the tea down, and he began. 

____

"Once upon a time, there was a wizard who knew all the spells. He was incredibly intelligent: he had an IQ of 148, after all. His name was Kim Namjoon."

_____

"Was?" I asked.

The sunshine gave a sad smile, "Yeah, was..."

The flicker of sadness dispersed, and he was back to his bubbly personality. 

___

"His magic was known to be powerful: he could bend the wills of minds with ease, changing an opinion within a heartbeat." 

He paused for dramatic effect.

"The one element that he couldn't control, however, was love. 

There were days filled with caffeine and exhaustion because he could never tie a red string to two people, linking them forever. Maybe that was his downfall. He stopped working on his dreams, leaving his group of friends, all to pursue a potential scientific breakthrough. 

When he left, the six other boys slowly grew distant. The others stopped bringing items for him during meetings, knowing that he wouldn't be there. It's a shame: the six were so talented, except one. The talentless one begged Namjoon to stay, to say that the research and the experiments were a waste.

But of course, that didn't work. It did the opposite. 

Namjoon never went back. 

Instead, he cooped up in his lab all day, mixing chemicals, waving his wand. His research was growing, more successful than the last, more prominent than the latter. 

And before the other six people knew it, he quitted entirely on their meetings. Namjoon never once went to another hangout. Namjoon found his breakthrough. 

The remainders should've been happy: the five of them could still pursue their dreams- their ambitions. But what about the one lacking in anything? The lacking boy looked up to Namjoon, sought advice from him, and now that he left, what was he supposed to do? 

Nothing. 

Just put on a mask and smile when Namjoon presented his creation -  _ his accomplishment. _

Maybe the boy should've said something, a word, a simple 'Don't leave.' would've sufficed. But he didn't. And perhaps he shouldn't: Namjoon was happy. His life after that was fulfilling. Short, but-"

__

I cut him off, "Wait, wait, wait, hold up- short?!" 

"Yeah...short. Five years after Namjoon's award-winning achievement, he passed away. A car crash. Someone cut the brakes."

The air felt tense. 

"Who...Who did it?" 

"Nobody knows."

I gave a pout and sat on the floor. 

"Well, that takes the fun out of it! Besides, there were multiple things wrong with your story-telling!" 

I continued to complain about the plot being "too simple," and the bootleg Mr. Rogers jokingly took out a pen and wrote down notes. And before you know it, it was 5:00, the melody that told children to go home played outside. 

"Guess you have to go." 

"Yeah. I'll come back next week, though."

The heels of my feet reached the doormat, the familiar cheerful writing bidding me goodbye. But I wasn't done yet.

Turning around, I asked him a question, "What's your name?" 

He looked up from the book he was skimming. The corners of his mouth twitched in a sad smile.

"Hope," he said, "you may call me Hope."

And I shut the door behind me.


	3. Chapter two; First Love pt.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oop ye this has two parts

"'Hope,' he says, 'you may call me hope,' he says." My attempts at mocking his voice were futile in relieving my annoyance.

'He didn't want to give me his real name.' I thought solemnly. But these thoughts weren't the only ones inhabiting my mind during that time. 

_ 'Did he not trust me?' _

_ 'What kind of name is "hope" anyway?' _

_ 'I didn't need to know his real name anyways!' _

But it wasn't like I wasn't going to visit him after learning his real name. It would've actually made me feel closer to him. But still, that really can't be judged, "Hope" didn't know mine either. 

My mind filled with thoughts as I stepped over the thick brambles, making my way home. And even though the rain poured on, I took my time, admiring the beautiful features of this forest. 

The flowers, the trees, and the rabbits in hiding were all a part of the forest. And at that moment, I wished I were like them: a part of something bigger, all contributing to create something beautiful. 

The path home was silent, and it was when I got home that I realized something. 

"Hope," I said, "Where have I heard that before?"

Not just used in a sentence, but rather, as a name. The thought provoked curiosity, but I brushed it off as something I read about a dolphin. 

Yet it still faintly lingered. 

______

"These girls are just so annoying! They're so self-centered and gossip about anyone to everyone. I can't stand those types of people, those people who apply hundreds of layers of makeup on their face instead of paying attention in class, those two-faced cookieless pieces of Oreos probably can't even spell correctly! Like seriously. Mio pretends to have clear skin, but her skin complexion is terrible! The other girls seriously are plastic freak-"

My long rant was interrupted by Hope's book slamming shut. 

"You shouldn't bad-mouth others." 

"Why not? They deserve it anyway! They gossip and bully others-" 

"Doesn't that make you the same as them? You're gossiping about them to me, you're talking trash about them to me."

"'Cause I'm a good person, and  _ they're _ the bad ones!" 

He gives me a stern look, "...What's the difference? The reason why they're 'bad' is that they gossip, right? Then if you're doing the same thing as them...aren't you just like them?" 

"That doesn't make me the same as them!" my voice rose. 

I covered my mouth immediately and flinched, expecting an outburst from him due to instinct. 

"...Sorry," I mumbled.

After three seconds, I opened my eyes to Hope's soft expression. 

"Here. Storytime." He patted towards the chair next to him.

Despite myself, I complied and sat next to him. 

____

" 'W _ ow! That pianist's fingers are so elegant! Look at how gracefully his hands move!'  _

_ 'THE ONE WHO NEEDS TO MOVE IS YOU, JISOO! YOU'RE BLOCKING MY VIEW OF HIS GORGEOUS FACE!'  _

The group of girls continues to bicker over each other, unbeknownst to the steady pace of footsteps behind them. 

'Excuse me.'

The chatter toned down. One of the girls asked p̶o̶l̶i̶t̶e̶l̶y̶, 'And who the heck are you?' 

The girl wasted no time replying, 'Piano lesson. Move.' The reply was short, staccato, and gave no information about who the mystery person was. The group, however, didn't move as commanded. So the girl pushed her way into the music room. Complains were heard all around; things like 'hey' and 'watch it' and especially: 'I'm telling Yoongi Oppa!'

The girl, well, it's getting old now: calling her 'The Girl.' So let's give her a name... How about...' Hyunjae.'

Hyunjae didn't care for the girls. They were all gossiping, plastic freaks anyway (or at least she thought so.) With a thud, she set down her bag and sat on the piano bench.

'I'm here for a lesson.' 

The slender fingers stopped along with the sounds from the piano. The man wore a tired look on his face. 

'I heard. The noise from the doorway told me all about you.'

Hyunjae had a smug smile, oblivious to Yoongi's sarcasm, 'Hmph. Then you must be informed that I want lessons from you." 

'I won't give you lessons unless you play for me first.' 

Her smug face faltered but then was quickly replaced, 'Very well.' 

Hyunjae placed her hands on the piano's snowy and ivory keys. One could tell that the instrument was pristine, yet loved- the notes were hit with passion yet with a hint of fragility as if the owner were afraid that too much force could shatter the instrument. 

But Hyunjae neither noticed the small- but significant- details nor did she play the notes with the same emotion. She only wanted to flaunt that she got lessons from the one and only "Min Yoongi." 

Her fingers started to play. 

The piano shivered from the stark contrast from the two players, and after two measures, Mr. Min raised his hand, cutting her mini-performance short. 

'I won't give you lessons.' His reply came sternly. 

The girl was stunned. She wanted to scream in his face, to throw a tantrum. She played the notes perfectly! A verbatim to the piece! So why wouldn't he give her lessons? 

Seeing Hyunjae's distress, Yoongi explained, 'First of all, you don't play with a shred of passion. There's no love in your music. Even though your notes were correct, the sound was robotic, I didn't sense any sort of emotion from the piano. Second of all, your personality is terrible. I'm not going to teach some stuck-up brat that thinks she owns the world. Now, please leave.' 

Hyunjae stomped her foot on the floor, 'No! You  _ will _ give me lessons-'

Yoongi cut her off once more, 'I only teach students who are passionate about their music. It seems like to  _ me _ that you only care about outwards appearances, not music. No, please go before I contact security.' 

Unable to argue back, she gave one last huff and stomped away." 

Hope glanced at the time and then glanced back at me, seeing how my reaction was. 

"Wow...she's a total a-hole! I can't believe that she thinks that she can just waltz towards Mr. Min or whatever and demand lessons. She even thinks that the girls were-" realization hit, "trash..." 

The sudden understanding rendered me speechless: this was a lesson- a lesson in the form of a story. 

"The story doesn't end there, though. But it's getting pretty late, so I suggest you head back." 


End file.
